Ad Perpetuam Memoriam
by Beingextremelycleveruphere
Summary: (ONESHOT) The Doctor, soon after regenerating from ten to eleven, has to let old lives to rest and puts away some treasured possessions of his past self. Sucky summary but I'd love you to read it and tell me what you think!


**A short break from 'Miracles Out Of Nowhere'. This was a prompt from Tumblr (where you can all chat to me and prompt me at 'bethedrunkgiraffe') and I happily complied! Hope you like it.**

**If you do like it, I'd love a review!**

**H x**

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_**Ad perpetuam memoriam**_

The Doctor opened the door, slowly and carefully as he popped his head around the corner of the well-worn wood and smiling at the snoozing Amelia in her bed, which the TARDIS had quickly set up a room for his new companion. It had been the first breather they had had- not that he had tried to have a breather, no, it was always like this at the start. He wanted to show her the whole universe in the space of a minute, and so wasted no time in dropping her straight into the middle of it all, or as this case had been, dropping her straight into the mouth of a Star Whale. That had not been the plan but it had all worked out well in the end he supposed.

Amelia's word niggled at him slightly. Was he really so transparent? Lonely, old…kind. He supposed he could be deemed as such but he didn't like it. He didn't really like himself but he didn't know what he was like yet, having regenerated just over 48 hours ago. Funny. She'd said he was funny. That beat rude, he supposed.

The Doctor let his smile drop into one of quiet contemplation as he closed Amelia's door, letting the small latch click in satisfaction before he let out a held in breath and turned in his refurbished corridors. It was strange, the corridors never seemed to change too much, and were never anything fancy. He strolled through them coming to his console room, at the top f the stairs. Slowly, he pulled his jacket off and swung it over that top railing, rolling up his sleeves before hopping down the staircase and down to the main control deck. He went down another flight of stairs, past the underbelly of his console, between wires and a swing that he filed away to be swung on later.

There was something he always did, after each regeneration. No one knew about it- he supposed know one needed to, no one could relate. After all, there was no other person in the universe that underwent regeneration. He was the last of his kind.

Regenerating meant that ever cell in his body died. Everything was rewritten and remade. It was like, well, it was like making a sequel, but the books before are still there and the writing that they contain still happened but the book you read now is different. That was what it could be likened to. But the problem is putting that last book on the shelf.

Timelords were a stickler for rules and tradition. One of the main rules had been to never interfere, the Doctor had broken that. He broke that quite a lot. But the Doctor was still a Timelord, and so he had traditions. Rituals if you like.

He broke his stride through his TARDIS with a click of his tongue and the stop if his boots on hard metal floor, finding the door whose door never changed, unlike the rest of them. If Amy's door had looked old, this was ancient. A dark mahogany with cracks through the old wood and bound hinges. It may have looked vulnerable to a unaware person but the Doctor knew that the TARDIS would not let anyone in here.

The Doctor slowly sighed, knowing he had to do it again, but not wanting to let go of that self, that man he had been. He was scared, scared that the man he was now; who was all chin, talk and tweed, might not be a likable fellow. As painful as it had been to be his tenth self, it had been good. But he had to let it go. The Doctor put his hand on the doorknob, and with the other, he put in his pocket, opening the door at the same time as he pulled out all that remained of his old blue screwdriver, wrapped in a brown and blue patterned tie. He glanced at them, before looking up and surveying the Box Room.

The Box Room was a box, contained boxes and had an overall box-y feel to it. It had stone walls and many shelves, filled with all mannerisms of mementos that he didn't keep in the other room with his umbrella, and various other knickknacks from odd adventures. No, this was not a memento room, more a memory room.

Hazel eyes drew themselves to a set of shelves at the far end of the already small room, and he saw 10 boxes. They weren't fancy. Durable would be the word used to describe them, each plain and medium sized with a small brass label on the front side and tape around each to seal them up. Each with a number. Nine, Seven, Five…Ten. The Doctor looked them over, not wanting to open any but the one he had to. He padded over, and grasped the one with the '10' inlayed in the brass label, and with a groan, he took it off of the shelf and placed it onto the floor, putting the tie and screwdriver remains next to it before he sat down on the floor with his legs crossed.

The Doctor steeled himself. So many memories. There was nothing alien or magical or scientific wonderment about this habit, no, it was putting it in the past, literally. He had to put it away, let the memories fade unless he decided they would come to the forefront once more and act as if they were yesterday if he wanted. But he didn't. Why would he want to? Donna, Wilf, Martha, Mickey, Jack, Rose…

He'd said his goodbyes to all of them. He just needed to say goodbye to himself now. And as morbid as it was, the Doctor couldn't help the wave of sadness he felt as he thought of what would be put in _his_ box, when he was finally all said and done. Perhaps a bow tie? He quite liked them.

But he was losing focus, and he had to get this done. Carefully, his hands stretched out to both sides of the chest and he opened it. The bare box was empty but for a pair of 3d glasses, put there when he was mourning Rose for the first time. The Doctor could already feel the tears welling at his old eyes and he sniffed, keeping the emotions as bay before adjusting his braces and slicked back his hair, drawing his attention to the tie and the screwdriver.

He gave his attention to the screwdriver. Blackened, dead and scratched. It had got him out of a couple of scrapes, that was true. Never had gotten that wood ability gotten sorted out, and he doubted he would with this face. Truth was he liked that it couldn't- made it flawed.

The Doctor slowly placed it into the box.

He got the tie next. Raggedy tie. Blue and brown and one of his favourites. Had been one of his favourites. The Doctor was disgusted that he now didn't particularly care for the tie. He had before. He hated this. Always changing, never the same, everything was _different_. Why would anyone want that? But he got on, he carried on.

And he placed the tie in the box.

The Doctor closed the lid with a final clunk wiping his eyes. That life was over, that life was behind him. It was the past and was going to stay there. It had to. He had to move forward, become and find out who he was now.

The Doctor got up with a sigh, picking up the box and putting it back on the shelf slowly, to join all his other lives. 10 gone. Centuries gone. He turned back, giving a fond salute as Wilf had done to him in what seemed like lifetimes ago- but in fact it was only one lifetime. That lifetime. The Eleventh Doctor left the room quietly, no words of regret or sorrow or sadness spilling from his mouth. He simply went silently, the door the only noise as it closed behind him.

Goodbye, Ten. Vale Decum.


End file.
